A/N Sorry this has taken longer to update than usual - I had a house full of people for a few weeks and turns out I really need solitude to write! Thanks so much for the gorgeous reviews - it was so nice to hear from some new readers, but I'm also loving my lovely, regular reviewers. Special shout-out to Ari whose review made my day :)

Hope you enjoy.

Chapter Eight:

Having made this headway, it's time to enter the Granian's more vulnerable areas. Starting on the near side, use both hands to massage its neck, then work your way to its withers, back and flanks.

Extract from "From Wild Beast to Wizard's Steed, a how-to guide on taming Granian".

Granger was pinning back her long, lush hair, revealing the slender column of her throat; Draco watched, mesmerised.

His fingers itched to feel the silken weight again. He found himself reliving the moment he'd cradled her head over and over, only this time he would lean in...

When Draco was seven years old, his mother had taken him to a wizarding circus for his birthday. He recalled seeing The Great Alfonso, an acrobat famous for tightrope walking hundreds of feet in the air without benefit of an Equilibrium spell. Alfonso's ability to retain his balance in the face of adverse conditions whilst carrying increasingly unwieldy objects had won Draco's youthful admiration. Nine years later, Draco had come to the conclusion Alfonso's act had nothing on Project Kiss-met.

Like a skilled Quidditch player, he had to hover delicately between gradually winning Granger over, but retaining enough of his former attitude so as not to spook her – and that was without factoring any other players in. Not to mention Hermione herself could at times threaten the balancing act, distracting him at highly inopportune moments. Such as sitting at the centre of a knot of Slytherins during a full-to-bursting lunchtime.

This was particularly poor timing considering the news that he and Hermione were studying together had broken amongst his cohorts the day before. Zabini had "casually" dropped this little tidbit into conversation at supper. The manner in which he had done so made it clear that whilst Draco had successfully allayed his suspicions, Blaise still saw potential fodder to embarrass him and possibly even challenge his position as head of their inner circle. Draco had seen this off with a combination of boredom and disdain and managed to convince his compatriots that he was being forced in to it – not that that stopped Pansy from yakking on about how unfair and disgusting it was he had to study with the Mudblood, and why didn't he complain to his father and get him to use his influence, and was he even listening to her? Draco? Draco? DRACO!

Draco snapped out of his fugue to realise the voice wasn't a memory – Pansy had been trying to attract his attention for some time. Damn. He couldn't afford these lapses in concentration. Whilst not as skilled as him, his Slytherin brethren were quick to sniff out an intrigue and even swifter to exploit a weakness, and his tardiness in responding had caused Pansy to turn to see what had drawn his attention. When she saw it was Granger, her lip curled in disgust.

"How can she even get her hands through that horrible, coarse stuff? Kneazle fur would be easier to manage."

Draco barely managed to bite back the remark that Granger's hair was actually very soft and a far more interesting texture than Pansy's lank locks, thank you very much.

Pansy was eyeing him sidelong. He knew he ought to affirm her insult with one of his own, he could tell from her face she was expecting him to, but a strange stubbornness descended. The apparent necessity of saying something he didn't really mean grated. He didn't mind when he was with Granger. It was entertaining heading her off, watching her reactions, trying to stay a step ahead... He relished the challenge. And, actually, much of the time, what he was saying to Granger was truthful – just deployed to the best possible advantage. Having to weigh words, outright lie and explain himself to others who insisted on sticking their wands in was less entertaining. Life would be so much easier if they would just mind their own business. Life would be so much easier if he could just be honest...

Hang on… Had he really just thought that? His inner Slytherin blinked in horror. Clearly, he'd been spending too much time with Granger.

Draco spoke up in a drawl. "I think that's a little unfair to Kneazles, Pansy. They don't have hair bushy enough to lose a Yeti in."

The crowd around him guffawed, looking over at the Gryffindor table where Granger was seated. As if sensing their scrutiny, Granger's eyes flitted over. Draco knew she was too far away to have heard his quip and carefully kept his expression blank, pretending to be engrossed in his pudding. She would likely still suspect the table was talking about her, but she wouldn't think he had instigated it. He glanced up in time to meet her eyes; the look she gave him didn't seem upset, so he could assume his ploy had been successful. He had simultaneously managed to placate his friends and deceive Granger. He should have felt relieved. He should have felt satisfaction that he continued to walk the tightrope so well.

Draco pushed his crème brûlée away.

Following lunch, Draco had a free lesson and was engaged in his now habitual Granger-stalking.

Risking life, and more importantly reputation, he was hanging around near the entrance to Gryffindor tower, waiting for Granger to emerge for her Arithmancy lesson. It wasn't one of his scheduled Kiss-met stops, but it had been a few days since their walk by Hagrid's hut and their next study session wasn't until the following evening; considering lunchtime's events, he felt it would be inauspicious to leave their next meeting until then.

Having been curtly questioned on what he was doing there by the painted fat cow in the pink dress, he was hovering just of sight, but angled so that he could see who was coming in and out.

Fortunately, he didn't have long to wait. The portrait door opened and an unmistakable explosion of frothy curls poked out, followed by the rest of her.

Holding back a moment to check she was definitely alone, Draco sauntered towards her, words of greeting on his lips, but stopped in disbelief as she straightened up and he got a good look at her face.

Granger was crying.

At that moment, she spotted him. Gasping in horror, she closed her eyes for a pained second. "Not you," she breathed. Then to his astonishment, she pelted off down the corridor.

To his even greater astonishment, without his consciously telling them to, his legs started hurrying after her, sparking a slightly panicked internal conversation.

What are you doing? Granger's crying – crying Granger! Crying girl! Abort, abort!

His legs didn't listen and continued to pursue her down the corridor and winding staircase. The staircase opened out on to a wide fifth-floor corridor. There was a particularly ugly statue with a very confused expression and a large painting of a former Gryffindor Head Boy, who made a rude gesture at him when he recognised Draco's house colours; but no Granger.

He'd lost her.

Not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed, he came to a standstill then heard a sort of snuffling sound coming from behind the statue. Shuffling forward and peering round the edge, he found Hermione huddled in a tight ball of misery.

Squatting down beside her, he spoke softly, trying not to spook her. "Granger?"

Granger lifted her head from her crossed arms. "Sod off, Malfoy," she growled, swiping at her eyes and glaring.

Hugely uncomfortable, Draco went to leave, but then paused, reading the underlying message in her eyes. Hermione felt vulnerable, and she expected him to mock her for it. A very Slytherin voice commented this was a prime opportunity to further his plans by subverting her expectations, but as he gazed down at her, all he could think was that he didn't like to see her cry.

It was so disfiguring for one thing.

Bracing a hand on the ground, he swung his legs out and sat down beside her, then reached out and gently patted her shoulder: "There, there?" he tried. Even through the tears Granger's eye-roll was unmistakable. Recalling the Manual's advice, Draco shifted his hand to her back and began slowly moving it in deep, soothing circles.

After a few minutes of this, Granger's rigid posture insensibly relaxed; she let out a tiny sigh. Draco pulled a silk handkerchief from his robes (monogrammed with the Malfoy crest, of course) and offered it. After a moment's hesitation, she took it and began mopping her eyes and nose.

Draco hazarded a question. "What's wrong?"

"Like I'd tell you," Granger scoffed, all previous spikes firmly back in place, but under that… under that he realised she was frightened.

"Why not tell me?" he pointed out calmly. "I'm not connected to your house or your friends. I can be neutral."

Granger emitted a watery snort of disbelief. "'Neutral'!"

"Okay, so that means it must be to do with Potter or Weasley." She stared at him, and he rolled his eyes. "I'm not a seer, Granger; it's called logic. To get such a strong reaction, it had to be someone I'm actively hostile to and vice versa. I'm going to assume it's the Weasel," he continued. "Potter's got a modicum more sense than Weasley, enough that he's less likely to say something dumb enough to make you cry."

Her eyes told him he'd hit the Quaffle square on.

Draco repressed a flash of anger. "What did he say to you?" he asked in the same neutral tone. When she didn't respond, he slipped his hand under the heavy curtain of her hair so it cradled her neck and began gently massaging the tension he found there.

Granger looked at him, bemused, and then suddenly blurted: "He said if I didn't stop being such a nagging, know-it-all, I'd never get a boyfriend."

Draco was thunderstruck. "Merlin, Granger – why would you let what that lanky, freckled freak says upset you?" Granger looked away, refusing to meet his eyes. Draco paused: insulting her friend probably wasn't the way to go (however inexplicable that friendship choice was).

He thought for a moment, then inspiration struck. "What is Waffling's First Rule of Magic?"

"A spell is only as good as its caster," Granger replied automatically.

"Exactly," Draco said. "The same is true of opinions. So, why would you take on the opinion of someone who has the romantic finesse of a troll and the… " he trailed off, his resolve not to insult her friends having lasted fewer than ten seconds.

Hermione giggled. "Emotional range of a teaspoon?" she suggested.

"Exactly!" Draco exclaimed, hugely relieved that she was looking more cheerful.

Granger quieted, eyeing him sidelong. "Not so long ago you'd have said the same thing."

"Nonsense – I'd've been far more imaginative." Sadly, this time Granger didn't laugh. Draco shrugged. "Not so long ago, I didn't know you," he said quietly, then balked internally. Where the hell had that come from? Hermione's answering smile was so radiant it knocked the thought clean out of his head.

Then the smile slid off to be replaced by a look of horror. "Oh, no! Arithmancy! I'm late!" She shot to her feet. Turning to face him she started to run backwards, waving his handkerchief in farewell. "Thank you, Malfoy!"

Then she was gone.

Draco got to his feet, feeling slightly uneasy.

The Slytherin voice berated him for not fully exploiting the situation. Admittedly, she hadn't been looking her best, but in her vulnerable state, it would have been the ideal time to try for a snog. Especially in light of Weasley's remark. The chances of her going along with it would have been greatly increased.

Draco wondered why it hadn't even occurred to him to try. Could he be going soft?

No, he decided firmly: it was the snot that had put him off.

A/N 2 "Adalbert Waffling (d. 1981) was a British wizard who was a magical theoretician, credited to have written 'all about magic'. Waffling was the one who formulated the Fundamental Laws of Magic and wrote Magical Theory, a most popular textbook still being used today in the of young wizards at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." With thanks to the Harry Potter Wiki for this information.

I made up the First Rule of Magic, the Great Alfonso and Equilbrium spells since none of the spells mentioned in the books or wider materials quite met the criteria for a balance spell.

Hermione's suggestion that Ron has the emotional range of a teaspoon was deliberately pilfered from the dialogue in Order of the Phoenix :)